Sock it to me
by irishhair
Summary: It's not like he was perving or anything, he just happened to be stood there when Howard started all that nonsense...


He would never admit it under the most exquisite torture. It was a dark and shameful secret, buried deep in his psyche like a hibernating weasel. It would ruin him it the Camden elite found him out. It was the antithesis of everything his image was based on. He thought Howard's jazz trances were sexy. The sway of his hips, the blissfully closed eyes, the soft Northern lilt of his voice over a brass instrument of some description. He couldn't help it, it just turned his knees to jelly and made his belly flutter.

"Ooh... yeah, baby... take it to the bridge."

That had absolutely no right to be as sexually confusing as it was.

And then came the moment that would make Vince rethink, yet more, basic principles.

"Sock it to me."

For fuck's sake... socks. Fucking socks. One of the least sexy items of clothing in existence, and now the very thought of them was making him twitch. Right, that was it.

Vince moved quietly from his spot behind the partially opened door (he wasn't perving or anything, he just happened to be stood there when Howard had started all that nonsense) and slipped upstairs.

He stood outside Howard's bedroom door and studied it carefully. It wasn't like it was the first time he'd gone in there uninvited for a rifle, but never with the clarity of purpose with which he was now entering it. He breathed inwards and turned the handle, letting the door swing gently inwards. He stepped carefully over the squeaky floorboard and walked over to the plain chest of drawers in three long strides.

In the bottom drawer, he found what he was looking for. A rainbow of colours from khaki to beige, carefully arranged and folded into neat wooly oblongs. Grabbing a pale nutmeg pair, Vince left the room quickly with his heart in his throat and almost ran to his own room and locked the door.

Hands trembling slightly, he unravelled the socks and rubbed them gently across his cheek. They smelled clean and slightly of lavender. His cock swelled impatiently and he unzipped his jeans and eased them past his hips. This was all kinds of wrong.

He slipped one of the socks over his erection and squeezed gently. His cock hardened further and a drop of precome leaked from the tip. He whimpered quietly and, putting his slender hand around the base of his erection, imagined Howard's larger hand circling his cock and stroking him. A groan escaped his lips and he wedged the other sock between his teeth and gripped it firmly.

In his mind, Howard stood close behind him, one hand pulling him off and the other over his mouth. His cock would be digging into Vince's back and he'd whisper in his ear. And kiss his neck, stubble and moustache rubbing the skin and burning slightly. Oh God....

"_I love your cock, Vince. You feel so good in my hand. You're going to come all over my hand, like a little school boy, aren't you? You dirty little bitch..."_

He moaned against the sock and pumped his cock harder. The friction of the material was making him uncomfortably hot. He alternately squeezed and rubbed himself and whimpered desperately into his improvised gag.

"_I'm going to bend you over and fuck you hard, little man. You'll be feeling me for a week."_

He reached down, with his free hand, to press a fingertip inside his tight opening. He spat out the sock and imagined Howard's hand between his legs, spreading his cheeks, pushing one of his big, strong fingers inside him.

"Howard, Howard, Howard," Vince whined and came violently into the pilfered sock.

After a moment of enjoying the rosy afterglow of orgasm, he looked down at the soiled sock, still wrapped around his softening cock. He carefully took it, along with its spit soaked partner, and hit it under his bed. He'd wash them with some of his stuff later and sneak them back into Howard's room. The other man was too organized not to notice that it was missing.

Sighing, he tucked himself back into his pants, pulled up his trousers and re-zipped his flies. He ay back and waited for the tide of guilt and self-loathing, which would surely be along momentarily.


End file.
